What You Will
by this lark sings
Summary: Nokoru deals with the trials and tribulations of being an eighteen year who happens to be in love with his best friend.  Nokoru x Suoh  eventual  and Nokoru x Idomu
1. To Strange Beginnings

Nokoru's first kiss isn't romantic. It isn't desperate with longing nor is it the suicidal leap off the cliff he had imagined, either. There is no courtship, no knight, no princess, and no white horse. It begins, strangely enough, with a challenge.

It's early evening and Nokoru is still seated amidst rows and columns of paperwork. He has misplaced the second page of a document and is thumbing through recently finished stacks and hastily fanning through others while Idomu leans against the window behind him.

"And you wonder why I found you such an easy target all those years ago," he says dry, idling between boredom and amusement. The blonde remains hunched over the desk and does not turn around to face him, but replies absentmindedly,

"We were twelve, and that was different."

Idomu shrugs and lifts a hand to inspect an invisible speck of dust under his carefully tended cuticles.

More rustling of paper before Nokoru lets out an uncharacteristic, frustrated sigh.

"This is ridiculous," he mutters, dropping a stack of papers back onto his desk. His shoulders sag as he leans forward on his knuckles, blinking rapidly. After a few seconds, the high school division president makes a soft whining sound and collapses glumly into his large chair.

The boy with the wine-colored hair steps lightly forward, surveying the desktop disaster with interest.

"Where's your little secretary tonight?" he asks. "Shouldn't he be helping you with all...", he raises an eyebrow and gestures with a wide sweep, "this?"

Nokoru's voice is muffled, as he currently has his face buried in his hands. "On a date. Let him go an hour early."

Idomu wrinkles his nose. "He's not still dating that child, is he? Because that's just sick."

Nokoru regains a shred of his dignity, lifts his face from his hands, and leans back in his chair.

"Nagisa? No, she left to study in America several years ago. He's been dating Miss Satsuki for several months now."

"Please tell me the age gap is less than five years this time."

Nokoru fixes Idomu with a warning look. "She's in our year, actually."

"An older woman? Impressive," Idomu smirks. After a few moments of amused silence, he adds, "And I'm guessing that Nokoru Imonoyama, the undisputed ladies man of Clamp Campus, is still painfully single?"

"Mm," is the other boy's simple response.

"May I ask why? And don't feed me that garbage about not wanting to hurt a lady's feelings. Please give me more respect than that."

Nokoru stares ahead at the massive council doors. "I just haven't found that person yet", he eventually replies.

"Haven't found "that person" or haven't found the courage to admit it yet?"

There is no malice, only a slightly taunting tease. Nokoru finds a dozen clever retorts and chooses to voice none of them. He picks up his pen and twirls it between his fingers until Idomu, annoyed, spins his chair around. The pen bounces softly off the thick emerald carpet as he finds himself face to face with his friend and former childhood enemy.

"You can't expect your watchdog to read your mind. If you want something, take it."

Nokoru continues to show his disapproval of this conversation through sharp and deliberate silence. He has never voiced his feelings for a certain golden-eyed friend for an unending, torrential flood of reasons.

If he were to sit down and be completely honest with himself, phrases like "hopelessly doomed", "pathetic beyond measure", and "he's just not that into you" would surely come out. He'd admit that he is desperate for his friend's respect, terrified yet always ready to give him away to someone else, and that he has not known anyone who can still make his heart jump and hammer against his ribs with just the suggestion of a smile. Nokoru could go on about how beautiful Suoh's hands are and how his shoulders are both firm and broad, but still soft enough to lay one's head upon for an impromptu subway nap, how the left side of his lip twitches when he is secretly amused, how desperately he wants to brush the hair out of Suoh's eyes when he learns forward beside him to check the paperwork at the end of the day.

But, of course, Nokoru has no desire to babble to anyone about his horrifyingly embarrassing and decidedly more than friendly affections for his bodyguard, secretary, and—most important of all—best friend of ten years now. He has also had no reason to think that anyone has ever guessed these sad longings until now. If anyone should know Nokoru's weak spot, it makes sense that it is Yudaji Idomu.

"For example, I am a great appreciator of fine, beautiful things. It's part of who I am. I don't deny myself certain things just because I'm worried about stepping on a few toes."

At this, Nokoru scoffs. "I've heard a lot about your relationships, Idomu, since you are not exactly discreet in the media. Not all of us have as—how should I say—_voracious_ appetites as yourself. And, by the way, have you ever tried stepping on the toes of a ninja?"

"And so you want nothing?" Idomu presses, a small gleam in his eyes. "I'm betting you have never been with someone before—you've probably never even had your first kiss. And you're just waiting, waiting, waiting for that special someone whose shadow—both literal and figurative—hangs behind you as a constant reminder of guilt and desire. Tell me, Nokoru-kun," he pauses to let the small, patronizing term ripple through the conversation, "how exactly are you less pathetic than me?"

The blonde is still sitting stiffly for several moments before he appears to deflate the smallest degree. When he asks, "Why are you doing this?", it's in a weary voice.

Idomu's lips curled upward, but instead of his usual smirk, it was a kind of amused but not unkind smile.

"I...like you?"

Both boys laugh at this and the rising tension floods out of them, leaving them poorly postured and grinning. The sun is grazing at the tops of the trees, casting wide rays of gold and tangerine across the glass windows. Idomu's hair burns bright in the brilliance, fringing his face with a warm glow.

"What, you don't believe me?"

"No," Nokoru shakes his head and raises his gaze toward the other boy, blinking against the brightness. "I don't. I don't really believe I'm your type."

"Oh, and you presume to know my type?"

Nokoru settles back in his chair comfortably, an analytical expression on his face. He holds out his hand and closes his fingers as he ticks off,

"For your _prey_, let's call them, I think you fancy those with innocence and who are inherently trusting. You dislike showy girls or boys who feel the need to be ostentatious. You like them to be—pardon my rudeness—stupid or at least dumber than you. Finally, you'd prefer it if they come from modest backgrounds, not from prominent families with much to lose should certain details leak out."

Idomu listens and nods.

"True, true," he murmurs, softly rubbing thumb over his bottom lip. "But," he looks up slyly, "I also happen to have a weakness for blondes with low self-esteem."

Nokoru rolls his eyes, souring slightly. He begins fiddling with the fan that he has pulled out of his breast pocket. When he opens it up, "nice try" is written in elaborate red English.

"You and that fucking fan."

"Mm, me and this fucking fan."

Idomu sighs and runs his hand through his thick hair.

"So, how 'bout it, then? Wanna make out?"

With a snort, the blonde flips the fan around to reveal the words, "HA HA" written in big, bold letters on the other side.

"Hey, I'm serious. You're seventeen and you've never kissed anyone, which is very, very pathetic. And me—I can always use some action. No one has to know. No strings attached." He raises his hands, palms facing Nokoru in a peaceable gesture. "I'll be a gentleman, I swear."

The other boy still hasn't said anything. He fans himself quietly, even though the room is quite cool.

"Nokoru, let's face it: you will, most likely, never be in a serious relationship because you know you'd be endangering the little dear every dainty step of the way. You will never confess your feelings to your watchdog. You wouldn't want to put that kind of burden on a friend so close and so important to you, because you know it would destroy everything. You can't exactly go out seeking any other male-presuming, of course, there are really no females that can catch your discerning eye-either, since that would spread scandal all over the papers and you do have your precious Imonoyama name to upload. Thus, in the end...you...you only have me."

He says the last part slowly, softly, and with blunt honesty. He is faced with silence that ticks on for at least a full minute. In that minute, Nokoru tries to ignore the thrum of the airconditioner and the barely audible sound of Idomu's steady breathing. His brain flips to his unfinished paperwork, the upcoming fall formal, his increasing meetings with Hinoto in the basement of the Diet Building, Satsuki bearing her perfect white smile while Suoh removes her jacket before dinner.

"Fine." Nokoru stands up, tucks his fan back into his jacket.

Idomu stares.

"What, that actually worked?"

"Yes, sure, of course. Let's get this over with." His expression is poised and calm.

They stand facing each other, although Nokoru holds his chin at a slightly higher degree than usual.

"For what it's worth, you _are_ ridiculously gorgeous," Idomu muses, scanning across the landscape of the other boy's features. Nokoru's reply is a breathy exhale and a barely contained eye roll.

"Even if you are completely fucked up in the head," he finishes. "Don't want you getting a big ego or anything."

"Are you going to do this or not?" Nokoru chews out the words, starting to feel irritated.

Idomu's brown eyes narrow. He shoves the young president, who stumbles back until his lower spine connects with the sharp edge of his desk. Caught off guard, his hands fly behind him to steady himself, fingers splayed flat and tight against the smooth coolness of paper. Before he can shoot off an angry response, a pair of lips are pressing against his neck. They are hot on his pulse, which begins thumping then hammering at a fast pace. A slick tongue licks at the tender skin under his jawline causing him to suck in sharply through his teeth.

"Sensitive?" Idomu murmurs. Nokoru simply gulps in reply.

The kiss itself is slow and surprisingly gentle. Although inexperienced, the blonde has seen enough films to know what to do. His eyes close and, although he hesitates for a breadth of a second, he leans softly into the other boy's lips. He's rewarded when Idomu presses back with obvious interest, snaking an arm around Nokoru's small waist and pulling him closer.

It's not bad, Nokoru thinks hazily. Weird that his first kiss is with a young man who tried to destroy his life five years ago, but Nokoru's life is anything but normal. Unsure of what to do with his hands, he rests them lightly on Idomu's back.

Their only warning is a soft groan from the door and a single footstep. When they separate, it's more of a hasty and hard shove from Nokoru than anything dignified or calm. Suoh is frozen in the doorway, fingers still lingering on the door knob, one foot forward frozen in mid-stride. His mouth parts and then closes. He wants to speak but can't come up with one good thing to say. He wants to look at Nokoru, but it's difficult as Nokoru is bright red and attempting to casually readjust his dark tie while firmly avoiding any eye contact.

So, instead of speaking, he settles for turning his own undignified shade of pink.

"Wow, Takamura-kun, next time, you should knock." Idomu is the only one who is completely unphased.

Suoh is still too shocked to come up with a snarky response, choosing instead a simple, "I...I came to pick up my phone. I forgot it in my desk."

Nokoru makes a sudden move—perhaps to flee or perhaps to retrieve his secretary's phone—but is quickly and lightly pushed back. Before he can realize what is happening, Idomu is swiftly striding over to Suoh's desk, yanking the top drawer open to retrieve the phone, and casually continuing over to where Suoh is still standing.

Wordlessly, Idomu presents the phone. He stares at Suoh openly, unblinking and unreadable. Suoh gingerly lifts his phone from Idomu's palm and utters a dry, "thank you", before nodding—eyes still not meeting—at Kaichou and then hurrying out of the room. If he had left any faster, he would have been running.

When Idomu turns back around, Nokoru is seated at his desk, his face lying down in a stack of papers.

"And that," Idomu smirks, "is how you step on the toes of a ninja."


	2. To Awkward Aftermaths

The morning has a way of turning back to all the flaws of yesterday with a beautiful and unflinching eye. Upon the first moment of consciousness, Nokoru finds himself stifling a sigh. He showers glumly, lathering his pale body under lukewarm water. He dresses and fixes his tie while avoiding his own eyes in the reflection of his 19th century French mirror. He almost trudges down the hallway but forces himself to adopt a less pathetic gait before reaching the dining hall.

Now, Nokoru drinks his coffee while surveying the newspaper with feigned interest. One of his older brothers is in town on business and is sitting across from him, talking spiritedly in Spanish to a former colleague who has called to announce an upcoming visit to Japan. Nokoru allows the foreign verb forms to roll through his mind, translating them—for fun—into Italian and then French.

When his brother finishes the call and has tucked the phone back into his breast pocket, he turns to Nokoru with a critical eye.

"Well, you're looking every inch of an angsty teenager today, Nokoru-kun. Well done," he comments cheerfully. He takes a careful bite of powdery white pastry and watches his youngest brother blink.

"I wouldn't say angsty," Nokoru says with only the softest edge of defensiveness.

"Oh, come now. You look like you're dying to skip school, lock yourself up in your room, and write a depressing poem in the dark."

At this, Nokoru can't help but show his alarm.

"Don't worry, little brother—you're still as beautiful as ever and I highly doubt the hordes of overly-hormonal fanatics that trail your every step will notice anything out of the ordinary. But I know you..." he leans in on his elbows and looks serious, "and if you have anything you need to talk about, let's just have it out now, okay?"

Nokoru lets the sheafs of newspaper fall gently onto the table.

"It's just..."

He can't really tell his brother anything. Out of the eight siblings, he does not know this brother particularly well. He is seven years older than himself and has been living in Madrid and Barcelona for years. It's not that the Imonoyama siblings are all strangers to each other, but their ambition and talents have led them all on separate paths across the globe that only occasionally cross.

In some ways, even this house is more of a hotel than a home—maids, servants, brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, and uncles coming and going at odd hours. Last week, Nokoru woke up in the middle of the night and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. In the hall, he sleepily realized that there were loud voices coming from the first floor library and entered to find two of his older sisters and one older brother getting enthusiastically wasted on a several bottles of very, very expensive wine from their mother's private cellars. They offered him a glass, which he graciously declined, and by the time he'd returned from his Saturday brunch with Suoh, they were already gone—had already packed up and disappeared on 6 am flights back to Tokyo, Beijing, and Seoul.

That's just how life is in the Imonoyama household—the family members sweep in with their Louis Vitton luggage and handsome suits, sharing animated experiences about their times in Zimbabwe, Mexico, or Papau New Guinea, argue about the state of Japanese politics, slyly hint about new beaus, tease each other regarding embarrassing paparazzi shots and tabloid rumors. Nokoru has none of the childhood recollections shared by many of his peers, for—indeed-his childhood has been an unconventional one.

"Girl problems?" his brother inquires conspiratorially, searching Nokoru's face for any hint or clue.

Nokoru says nothing.

"...Boy problems?"

Nokoru flinches almost imperceptibly, caught off-guard by the unexpected question.

Thoughtfully, his brother leans forward. He manages to catch Nokoru's eye and holds it with earnest seriousness.

"Just answer this one question for me. Are you...are you being safe?"

Nokoru stares.

"I mean," his brother elaborates, choosing to speak his words slowly and cautiously, "are you...being safe? You are using protection, right?"

"Oh my god. I can't do this." Nokoru shoves back his chair, grabs his briefcase from the seat next to him, ignoring his brother's loud apologies, and practically sprints out the front door.

The walk to school is a gauntlet of endless waves, squeals, and blushes. His charm is unfaltering, as usual, even as he mentally tries to abort the constant replays of his previously horrifying breakfast. He's not sure which idea is more terrible to him: his brother attempting to give him "the talk" or the idea of sacrificing his virginity to his smirking childhood nemesis.

When he reaches the student council office, Akira is the only person present.

"Where's Suoh?" Nokoru casually asks while setting down his briefcase next to his large desk. Momentarily forgetting yesterday's embarrassment, Nokoru darkly notices a memo stuck on top of a disorganized pile of papers that reads,

"Did you ever find the second part to that document?

I did.

In the trash.

Kaichou, please organize this after your lunch period."

"He has a presentation to give for the middle school student council this morning and left early to prepare."

"Ah." Nokoru doesn't sigh in relief, but allows himself the palest glimmer of hope that today will be completely normal. Sure, it started off on a terrible note, but at least Suoh hasn't let the trauma of seeing him make out with Idomu prevent him from leaving mildly condescending memos so early on in the day.

That same thread of optimism follows Nokoru all the way through the morning.

"See, things will be fine," the voice assures him as the fourth period bell rings shrilly across the grounds.

"It's not like he will judge you any differently," it continues cheerfully as he steps out into the hot afternoon sun.

"He probably didn't even-"

"Kaichou!"

The voice implodes with the feeblest of whimpers and Nokoru feels as if someone has just poured a bucket of ice water down his back.

"Suoh," he spins around and smiles brightly. Even the stress of masking his panic fails to ease the knots that naturally form each time Nokoru glances over at his friend. Thick, dark hark brushed over those gorgeous hazel eyes, full lips taut with the usual seriousness, permanently tanned skin, wide shoulders and a trim waist—a body of beauty, masculinity, and control. Nokoru notices that Suoh has undone his top button from the heat and can see two sensual collarbones peaking out behind the starched white fabric. He looks away but not it's not quick enough.

"The air conditioner has broken down in the middle school student council room," Suoh explains, gesturing to his uncharacteristically lax dress.

"Ah," Nokoru eloquently responds.

"Did you find the memo I left for you on the desk?" Suoh inquires, giving him a sidelong glance as they walk.

"Of course. I would have found that document in the end, you know," Nokoru lightly counters.

"Oh, you think?" Suoh asks. The voice is teasing-a rare thing for a Takamura before lunchtime. Nokoru notes this out of place playfulness and stores the information with his other mental analyses of his bodyguard.

"Suoh," at this, Nokoru pauses and places a hand on his friend's upper arm while leveling a massively charasmatic grin, "Absolutely. I didn't get to be president of the high school by pure luck, you know. I am where I am today because-"

"You slept your way to the top," Idomu finishes cheerfully, sliding up alongside the duo. Nokoru's hand drops from Suoh's arm as if burned.

"God, you're annoying," Nokoru deadpans, all traces of his previous smile erased. Idomu shrugs and smiles, waves 'hello' to a passing acquaintance.

"Why are you here?" Suoh demands. His fists are tight at his sides and his jaw is tight.

"I can't stop in every once in a while to see an old friend?"

"You were just here last night," Suoh growls through clentched teeth.

And bingo, there is the reference to last night that Nokoru has been silently dreading all morning.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Nokoru asks, trying to keep a civil tone.

With a careless flick of the wrist, Idomu consults his watch.

"I have a meeting with the engineering club in an hour, but I'm free until then. Join me for lunch?"

"No, thanks." The tone becomes icy, steeling itself in the humid, baking air.

Lofty as ever, Idomu raises his palms and starts to walk away.

"I see. Well, I'll be calling you later."

"That's not necessary!" Nokoru raises his voice, but Idomu is already striding away, leaving in his wake a string of curious onlookers and tittering coeds.

"I'm still confused as to why he's still here," Suoh mutters, maneuvering his way to the high school division's council building with a still slightly ruffled Nokoru at his side.

"He got approval to work with the engineering club on a big project they're currently working on in conjunction with Imonoyama Engineering."

Suoh is puzzled.

"But who would have approved him-after what he did..." he drifts off, allowing the lack of words to complete the imagery.

"I did," Nokoru admits. When he notices that Suoh is giving him a look out of the corner of his eye, he explains himself. "Listen, Idomu isn't an idiot kid anymore. He knows what he did back then was wrong, and even though he tries to have this whole rebel attitude, he really has grown up to be an okay guy. He's not going to try to harm us-or anyone at the school during his time here. In a few weeks, he'll go back to Tokyo."

Suoh sighs. "If you trust him..."

Nokoru doesn't, but lets the conversation come to its natural conclusion.


	3. The Other Side of the Wall

For Takamura Suoh, this day could almost qualify as "normal". There were no damsels to save, no explosions to dismantle, no kidnappers to thwart. Akira had made him a small but potent coffee since Suoh was feeling uncharacteristically and inexplicably tired that morning, and the two had laughed (that was more Akira) and sighed (this was more Suoh) when they discovered that Nokoru had taken again taken up the habit of trashing important documents while daydreaming.

"Kaichou must have a lot on his mind these days," Akira had chirped, smoothing out the creases of the nearly destroyed paper. "The funny thing is that he actually signed it first before throwing it away…"

"Mmm. Very funny," Suoh commented. He finished writing his memo and pasted it neatly on top of the sad looking document. He paused, looking down at the young president's desk. It was in its usual state of disarray—there were two empty tea cups, multiple stacks of papers with hastily scrawled memos from Nokoru to himself littering the tops _("FINISH THIS TODAY!_", "_check again on Wednesday_", "_see if production efficiency can be increased through new scheduling_" and the vaguely ominous, "_this is very important but where is the other half?_"), a large but dry looking volume entitled "Flora and Fauna of the Middle East", and a small, pink pillow in the shape of a smiling pig's face.

_Two teacups. For Nokoru and his company_.

"Ijyuin.."

"Yes?"

"Have you noticed anything different about Kaichou lately?"

Akira considered the question, lightly twisting his lips to the side in thoughtfulness.

"I suppose he has been busier. As I'm sure you've noticed, the number of cases we as detectives have been asked by Kaichou—"

"_Forced_ by Kaichou…"

"—to investigate has decreased greatly this semester. We haven't had an all-out campus search for him in several weeks and I don't believe you've had to get the rope from the closet to tie him to his chair in at least a month."

Suoh nodded with a subdued amount of pride.

Akira continued, "Other than his frequent trips to Tokyo lately, I can't think of anything that stands out as strange. Why do you ask?"

"Trips to Tokyo?" Suoh's ears perked.

"Well, I've heard him mention it on the phone to someone when I think he thought I was out of earshot…something about staying at his brother's vacant apartment while he's on business trips…" Akira blushed. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but…." He trailed off, embarrassed.

Suoh shook his head and muttered something like, "It happens", but his thoughts began to roll. What was Nokoru doing in Tokyo? Why hadn't he mentioned it to the two of them? Was there any danger involved? Suoh knew all too well of his charge's penchant for keeping his friends in the dark when it came to precarious situations.

_Could it have something to do with __**him**__?_

Before he could stop himself—as if he even knew how—his thoughts went from a curious skipping to a high-speed multiplication. Last night, the moment of complete silence after he had opened the door, the hand making a fist around the fabric at the back of Nokoru's shirt, a hot blush flaming across the president's cheeks, that unreadable expression on Idomu's face that uneasily reminded Suoh of an unspoken challenge.

_But a challenge for what? _

Suoh had never questioned or pried into Nokoru's love life after receiving half-hearted responses in their early years of friendship, thus he had chalked it up to one of those off-limits areas of conversation. That was perfectly fine with him. If his friend was uncomfortable discussing those kinds of matters, then he would never push his luck. And as Suoh was uncomfortable enough talking about his own personal life, he would never try to extract personal answers from anyone else. Sure, sometimes the occasional thought would pop up when the whole gang would be at dinner and Nokoru was the only single person at the table, but it wasn't a question that Suoh obsessed over in his free time. Kaichou was Kaichou, and that was that. Would he fall in love some day? Probably. Would he want to discuss it with his friends? Maybe. Maybe not.

But nothing can prepare you for walking into your office to witness your best friend in a passionate lip-lock with your former childhood enemy.

After leaving the council room in a daze, Suoh's thoughts went something like this:

_Nokoru. Nokoru kissing. Kissing? Nokoru. He was kissing someone. Idomu! How! Why? What if it wasn't consensual? Idomu has been involved in many scandals in the last few years. But it looked consensual. So does this happen often? When did it start? Who initiated it? I am late…I hope Satsuki is comfortable at the table and not waiting for me at the front. But are they dating? Does Nokoru date…guys?_

Realizing that his train of thought was close to derailing itself, he forced up a mental blocade. Nokoru, Idomu, the two teacups, the hands and bodies disappeared in a flash, and he was facing a white wall. It was the same smooth and endless thing he had learned to conjure during training when pain or other distractions caused him to lose focus. He focused on the it now, taking in its endless height and length, its unyielding strength, and silently told himself to move on.

There was a soft chinking of porcelain as Akira gingerly lifted the teacups from the president's desk.

"It was a good brew," he commented with a small smile. "No wonder Kaichou had two cups."

And without warning, Suoh saw the perfect image of Nokoru's head tilting back, wisps of blonde hair brushing against his lashes, a sigh melting from his open lips, and the wall came crashing down.


End file.
